A Lady Under Siege(42)

BETSY WANDERED DOWNSTAIRS TO the kitchen, swung open the fridge door, and randomly scanned its contents, in hopes of finding something good, like chocolate pudding or cake. But there was nothing like that. In fact it scared her a little how empty the fridge was, another sign that her mother was losing it. From next door she heard a sound that she guessed must be Derek whacking a golf ball again, and went out to investigate.

The elaborate frame of plumbing pipes and netting he had so recently constructed was gone. From the deck she could see that he’d come up with a simpler strategy: his ball was now tethered to a six-foot-long elastic band attached to a spike in the ground. He set the ball between his feet and reared back for a swing, when Betsy called out in a singsong voice, “I can see yooouuu…”

The disruption made him carve a huge divot out of his scraggly lawn. He spotted Betsy on the deck and said, “There you are. How’s the finger coming along?”

“Better. Is that a real ball?”

“No, it’s hollow, and plastic. But for some reason, even though I’ve set it up so it can’t hit me, and I know it won’t hurt even if it does hit me, my body doesn’t believe my mind—every frigging time it comes flying back at me, I bail. It’s turning my smooth swing all spastic. What happened to your trampoline?”

“My mom locked it in the shed. It’s part of my punishment for the broken window. Plus she said it’s too dangerous.”

“Ridiculous,” Derek spat. “You’re overprotected. You’ll never learn to deal with dangerous things unless you’re given dangerous things to deal with.”

“What happened to your netting?” she asked.

“I took it down. When I wasn’t using it, it loomed too high above me, like a prison fence. Gave me the creeps, especially at night. This is better. Simpler is usually better.”

“What other games do you have?” Betsy asked.

“None. Golf is infuriating enough.”

“I have badminton, do you like it?”

“Like it? I love it,” he exclaimed. “In my day I was fourteen-and-under regional champion, or I would have been if I’d bothered to enter. Wicked drop shot, I had. But that was mostly indoors, and I love it even more outdoors—it’s the only game besides golf where you really have to watch what the wind is up to—a capricious little gust can ruin what you expected was a perfectly placed shot.”

“Shall we play?” Betsy asked excitedly.

“Oh let’s,” he answered, gently mocking her. “But we’ll have to play blind badminton.”

“What’s that?”

“We’ll make the fence the net, which means you can’t see the birdie until it comes fluttering back at you.”

“Brilliant!” Betsy cried. She was thrilled. She ran inside to retrieve her racquets and shuttlecock, and before long a spirited game of blind badminton was underway.

UP IN HER STUDIO Meghan was lost in the world of medieval medicine, educating herself as to the properties of the four humours. The familiar musical peals of Betsy’s distinctive laugh reached her faintly from the back yard. She got up and went to the back bedroom window to have a look. Below her Derek and Betsy, in high spirits, were whacking the birdie back and forth over the fence.

“You know if you win, you get to declare yourself blind badminton champion of the universe, because we’re the only two players known to exist,” Derek was shouting, his voice ragged from exertion.

“Even if I lose, I’ll still be second in the universe,” Betsy yelled back. “I’ll get the silver medal!”

“No, you’ll be the worst, worst in the world. Shit!” His return shot hit the fence and fell back in his yard. “Pardon my French. Okay. I’m serving. Ready?”

“It’s ten eight,” Betsy called out.

“For me,” said Derek.

“No, for me!”

“It was nine eight for me.”

“No it wasn’t!”

“Don’t mess with me, girl,” Derek scolded.

“You’re the one messing.”

“Whatever. Finish this game, then I need a cigarette.”

“But ten eight for me, right?”

“Fine. Still plenty of time to whip your ass. I mean butt.”

“Ass is a donkey,” Betsy laughed.

“True. And people do whip donkeys, right on their ass.”